The Wrong Way
by CauseChocolateRocks
Summary: As Hermione catches up with the timeline she first lived in, things start to deteriorate. She has to continue to hide her true identity, as run-ins with both her pasts accumulate and her burden become increasingly difficult to bear. What's more, she has to live with the betrayals of those she loves, comfort being be hard to find as she witnesses the rise of the Dark Lord once more.


**Disclaimer:** **Sadly, I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Everything belongs to JK Rowling, and I'm merely allowed to play around with them. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Welcome on this new journey with me. This is a sequel to a story of mine called 'The Right Path', so if you start reading this on it's own, things might be a little confusing. As always, please enjoy and leave a review if you have the time. I love you all.**

The Wrong Way

-o-O-o-

 _Chapter 1_

-o-O-o-

 _Almost._

It had been almost twelve years. Twelve years since Sirius Black had been thrown head first into Azkaban and landed in this grimy cage they called a cell. If he had had sparse moments of insanity in the past, it was nothing compared to now.

He sat in a corner of his cell, the cleanest of all four of them, huddled up on the floor and shivering as the cold and humid wind of the North Sea cooled the normally warm June air. Or was it actually July? He didn't know. Nor had he any way to find out.

It wasn't cold per se, but for a man with skin stretched right over his bones, it was like standing naked in the middle of a blizzard. Besides, the Dementors made it impossible for warmth to ever reach them, for warmth was something good. And Sirius Black wasn't allowed to feel good anymore.

 _Almost._

His grey eyes were empty as they stared right in front of him, at the bar of his cell on the extreme left of the heavy steel gate. They no longer sparkled with youth or a longing to live. No, they were the eyes of a man who had lost his faith in everything, and especially in happiness. For Sirius Black knew there was no such thing as happiness anymore. These long years had taken all traces of happy memories from him and he was forced to constantly relive the worst moments of his life.

 _Remus screamed in despair as a flash of green light hit Mary in the chest. It was all his fault._

Sirius twitched.

 _Almost._

Dark bags were heavy under his eyes. He couldn't sleep anymore. He didn't want to anyway. He always had nightmares, nightmares of pain he had lived and was living. He didn't want to see those painful images anymore.

 _He stepped into the Potters' destroyed home. He stared at the dead eyes of his best friend, his brother. His wife was dead too. He hugged his crying godson one last time. It was all his fault._

His hair hung long and dirty, way past his neck. They never allowed his to wash and barely ever allowed him to cut his hair or shave. His clothes were matted with blood, vomit, sweat and dirt. They had never washed these either. He remembered the beatings he had received after his first three suicide attempts. But he couldn't do it anymore.

 _Almost._

All these people whose lives he had ruined… He deserved this, didn't he? He had killed them all. He was a murderer.

Sirius twitched again and groaned. He heard a chuckle coming from near his cell. "You alright itty baby cousin?" he heard a high pitched voice ask mockingly.

"Shut up!" he told the voice irately and twitched again.

He heard the evil cackle again. "I take it you still haven't forgiven me?" she asked sadistically, her voice getting on his nerves. "You didn't like my confession on how you were the biggest Death Eater in Great Britain?"

"I said _shut up_!" he yelled again, but regretted it instantly. His throat was dry and he wouldn't be able to drink until that evening.

 _Almost._

"I couldn't just let you rat out our spy, you know." she told him. "It's a shame you were too stupid to figure out what he was. But then again, you were never the smartest of us, were you?" She laughed again.

"Bella, I swear," he said in a low dangerous voice which contrasted with his frail and feeble looking body. "If you continue, I will _kill_ you."

"Like you killed them all?" she asked, cackling again. "Grand Sirius Black, the murderer of Peter Pettigrew, your best friend, Mary McDonald, your best friend's whore, Lily and James Potter, your best friend _and_ his whore, not mention _your own_ whore… and your own _brother_. Quite the record you've got there cousin." He heard her clap him ironically. "I should take you as an example."

He gulped, knowing she was right.

 _Almost._

"Bella," he warned. "I vow that when I get out of here-" he tried, but she cut him off.

"You can't keep vows Sirius." she informed him in a sing-song voice. "You're a blood traitor, no one likes you anymore and you have nothing to be living for. You don't have a reason to keep a vow." She paused as an Auror walked in the corridor, so that he wouldn't hear what she had to say next. "Besides, you'll never get out." she hissed at him, suddenly venomous.

He grit his teeth. Hermione had promised him he would. _I'll spend twelve years here?_ he had asked.

 _I wish I could get you out sooner_.

Seeing that he wasn't going to answer, Bella continued. " _I'm_ going to get out. The Dark Lord will come and get me and reward me for being faithful to him in the past twelve years."

"The Dark Lord is gone." Sirius told her as if he was tired of repeating the same thing over and over.

" _He is not!_ " he heard her shriek loudly as a violent mood swing hit her in her madness. "The Dark Lord _cannot_ die! He told me so, I was privileged! He gave me an artefact that will keep him alive and I kept it safe! I kept the Dark Lord safe, so he will rescue me and reward me!"

"Stop screaming woman!" Sirius shouted, annoyed. Bellatrix was even more insane than he was.

 _Almost._

She seemed to calm down immediately as, the next time she spoke, her voice was calm and she still found it in her to make fun of him. "Of course, you wouldn't know of such magic, right Sirius?" she sniggered at him. "Seeing as you couldn't save _anyone_ you loved. You're all alone now!" she squealed gleefully.

Sirius growled. "I'm not alone!" he shouted at her.

"Oooooh, are you thinking of that pitiful Half-Blooded godson of yours?" she asked. "Don't count on him too much, as soon as the Dark Lord gets me out, we'll hunt him down and kill him. It will be so much fun!" she giggled and clapped her hands childishly.

"Why won't you just shut the _fuck up_ you crazy _bitch_?!" Sirius screamed as he stood up, turning around to face the wall his cell had in common with hers.

"Don't worry, baby cousin," she soothed him in a fake baby voice. "I'll let you watch."

 _Almost._

He couldn't do it. He couldn't stay in here anymore. He had to kill her. He pulled his right hand back, balled it into a tight fist and punched the stone wall with all the strength he could muster. He felt a crack in his hand and heard her laugh at him but he didn't care anymore. He repeatedly punched the only thing keeping Bellatrix safe, and soon, his knuckles were split in multiple areas and there were two dark stains absorbed by the peculiar magical granite of the magical prison.

 _So much for blood!_

An Auror yelled at him and slammed his cell door open, but Sirius continued to punch the wall. He felt his arms being wrestled to his back and tried to fight, but he was too weak. The Auror called a colleague, who whispered a spell and suddenly Sirius' hands were bound to his back as the two cloaked men, circled by their Patronuses, pushed him out of his cell, hanging on to the rope that was tied around him.

He passed Bellatrix' cell and she was hanging on to her bars, giggling and waving him goodbye. He wrenched away from the Aurors and dashed to her, yelling: " _Fuck you, you crazy bitch!_ " He slammed into the bars but she had stepped away slightly so she didn't get hurt.

 _Almost._

"Get back here!" he yelled at her again. "I'll _kill_ you! I'll _fucking kill_ you! And I'll enjoy watching you writhe in pain at _my hand_ for what you've done!"

She stepped a little closer to him so she could whisper to him: "How very… _Death Eater_ of you." She smiled evilly as Sirius' eyes widened and he yelled out in frustration, slamming his shoulder against the door again.

He felt a Stinging Hex hit his calf and he yelled out in pain, his knees buckling up from under him and he slumped down on the ground, suddenly running out of willpower to kill his mad cousin. She kneeled down and scrutinised him, her grey eyes hard.

"So pathetically weak." she hissed at him. "I always knew you had bad blood. The Dark Lord wouldn't take you in if you begged him on your knees. You're not fit to be the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Sirius didn't answer.

She was right.

 _Almost._

He didn't fight as the Aurors hauled him up and kicked him in the guts, before shoving him down the corridor. He just held his breath for a bit and counted the steps down to the solitary cell. When the usual four hundred and eighteen steps were reached, he turned left, the Aurors no far behind. He stopped on the seventh door to his left and waited for the door to open.

The Auror on the left waved his wand and the door clicked open. Sirius stepped inside and, without looking back, asked: "How long?"

He felt his bonds vanish and he rubbed his wrists. He looked at his knuckles and saw they were going blue and black. They were broken. "Four days." the man answered, then slammed the door behind Sirius. He broke down and slumped down onto the cold floor. His shoulders heaved, but no sobs no tears came out. He was too exhausted for that.

 _Almost._

He didn't know if he could do it. After all, hadn't she told him contradicting statements? _No human being ever escapes Azkaban, Sirius._ she had said. Maybe he was too crazy to be considered a human being anymore. _You stayed sane._ No, that couldn't be it then. _I guess the fact that you knew you were innocent kept you going._ But he wasn't innocent. He was guilty.

He had killed them all. All his friends, and he had condemned his own godson to being raised without parents. But at least he had gotten his revenge. He had killed that worthless piece of scum: Peter Pettigrew.

But he couldn't remember the elation he had felt as he had seen the pile of ashes and the bloody finger. He couldn't remember the feeling of justice. No. He couldn't. But he knew it had been there.

He had liked killing the person he had once called his best friend. That made him just as guilty as said best friend, if not more. He hadn't done it for love. He had done it out of anger. Sirius Black had always been an angry man. That was his most prominent characteristic.

Wrath.

Constant, burning wrath.

 _Almost._

But where was that wrath when he needed it the most? Where was it when he needed to fight to get out of this hell? It wasn't enough. It wasn't the same fire that had driven him to do unthinkable things. Like curse Hermione like he had done in seventh year. Or go back to his home to kill his brother when Hermione had left him. Or even go after Peter the day after Halloween of 1981.

Sirius sighed. He didn't have anything left of his younger self. He wasn't even sure how old he was. It had been almost twelve years since he had been shipped off to Azkaban at age twenty one. That would make him thirty three.

He choked back a sob. He had always imagined that, at that age, he would be married and already have a couple kids. He would have gotten a really cool job, like Unspeakable or Auror. Instead, he was just a sad sod lying down on a prison floor, with no light, whether literal or figurative, to guide him.

His hands throbbed, but he knew they would heal. Azkaban's walls were weaved with strings of ancient healing spells which made it almost impossible to die. The only real downside was that it fed off the prisoners' magic, so they were almost like Muggles in this building. Only if you were hit by the Killing Curse or if you had a heart failure could your life be taken within those walls. Otherwise, the healing process was just slow and painful.

Which is why Sirius Black didn't die every time he was put in solitary confinement. For, in that windowless room, he was left alone, with no food or water, for days on end. When he got out, his health was usually despicable but not critical. He had spent up to a week in solitary confinement, and they had refused him a glass of water once he got out, other than his daily evening glass which he got at the same time he would receive his dinner.

 _Almost._

But what if it wasn't? What if it wasn't almost over? What if he was going to have to stay here forever? He couldn't do it. He couldn't see the sun every morning and wish for death. He just couldn't. The weight of his guilt was too heavy for him. He was just so guilty… He wished to never have been born. He wouldn't have hurt anybody then.

… _you were innocent…_

But was he really? She seemed to believe so. Yet he had at least killed Peter, even though he didn't use an Unforgivable, and a dozen Muggles around him too. He deserved to be in Azkaban. He didn't deserve to have his youth back, nor his energy, nor his longing to live…

He couldn't live anymore. He could only survive. Survive on the hope that one day he would get out. But how? He didn't have the strength anymore, and besides, where would he go? Bellatrix was right. No one liked him anymore, not that many people had liked him in the first place anyway.

He didn't have any reason to live anymore either. Everything he had loved was gone. Not even Hermione had seemed to want him back in her life. But he had to fight, because he knew he would get out. And when he did, he would just walk into a corner of a street and let himself die.

 _Almost._

He didn't want to survive anymore. He just wanted to get out and get his misery over with. Every time his heart would beat, he would feel an angry wave of agony pulse through him. He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get it over with.

Sirius didn't know how long he stayed in solitary confinement, but what he did know was that his hands hadn't finished numbing themselves because of the cold when the Auror opened the door of his cell. He stood up, shading his eyes from the light, confused, as the other man entered the cell all pulled the half dead man out.

Judging by the sun outside, it had to be the early hours of the morning, seven at the most. "How long have I been in there?" the prisoner croaked.

The guard didn't look at him as he answered: "About forty eight hours." He had his hand on Sirius' back and supported him as they started walking towards the stairs that would lead him back to his cell. He was being unusually nice. Sirius looked down and saw the alligator Patronus patrolling around the both of them, when they usually only protected their caster, at least in here.

"What's going on?" Sirius croaked again as they started climbing up the stone staircases. "They told me I would be here four days."

The Auror seemed to hesitate, but after about fifty steps, he deemed it safe to answer the broken man. "The Minister is coming over here on an official visit." he answered. "Journalists are going to be there and they want to see the most famous murderer of Wizarding Britain after You-Know-Who himself. So he has to be in a good enough shape to say a few things to Mister Fudge."

Sirius didn't need to ask who he was referring to. Of course he would be a famous murderer. He had broken the Statute of Secrecy and killed quite a few Muggles, as well as two of his best friends. Still, he wasn't going to deny a chance to piss off the government who had thrown him in here without a trial.

 _Almost._

He was out of breath by the time they had reached his cell. Bella wasn't in hers, which led Sirius to hope she had died. A Dementor sensed his hope and started gliding towards them, but the alligator snapped its jaws at it and it recoiled, appalled by such and amount of happiness. Sirius gave a small half smile and groaned as it hurt his cheek. He hadn't smiled in years and his muscles weren't used to that kind of expression anymore.

The heavy gate shut with a loud clang but, before leaving, the Auror conjured up a glass of water and gave it to Sirius, who gulped it down eagerly. The cool liquid dribbled a bit down his chin, so he tried catching the few droplets with his fingers to swallow those too. When he was done, he handed the glass back to the man without so much as a thank, knowing he was only doing this because of his boss' orders and certainly not out of sympathy for another human being.

Said man huffed a little indignantly, but said nothing. He whispered a quick _Scourgify_ and a mediocre shaving spell which considerably improved Sirius' appearance, even though some filth remained and he still had a five o'clock shadow.

"Minister Fudge will be here in ten minutes." he said simply and then walked off, his silver alligator in tow. Sirius sighed and slumped to the ground. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror in almost twelve years but could have bet he looked terrible. Quickly he glanced down at his hands, marred with small scars that had healed badly in prison, some of his nails long and dirty, some chewed on so much he had broken the skin. The lines there were incrusted with dust and dirt and so were those around his elbow. He could see his bones through the skin of his arms and wrists, moving weakly when he flicked them. His feet were bare but he could barely see the skin of them anymore, for they were covered with a thick layer of grime. His knees and calves were scabbed and bruised from crawling around his cell all day, and he had a large red welt where the Stinging Hex had hit him two days earlier. His whole skin was pale and gaunt, gone were the muscles he had had in his youth.

 _Almost._

He heard voices down the corridor and stopped observing his body to listen in. "-solutely Minister! Mr. Grave, please lead the way." This particular voice was shrill, overenthusiastic and particularly annoying.

He heard footsteps getting closer to him and, sure enough, five people and their respective Patronuses were soon gathered in front of his cell. He recognised two of the Aurors on guard today, including the one who had freed him from his solitary confinement mere minutes earlier, the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, his atrocious bowler hat sitting atop his head, and Rita Skeeter, still with those ugly glasses encrusted with crystals that glittered when she moved her head. The fifth person he did not know, but it was obvious he was the photographer for the article as he was carrying a large, old fashioned camera.

"Good morning Minister." he told the older man ironically. "What brings you to such a desolate place like this on such a fine summer morning?"

Fudge either didn't notice Sirius was making fun of him or he had decided to ignore it. "I'm on an official visit to Azkaban prison, of course." he answered pompously. "A high ranked official such as myself is expected to fulfil such duties."

Sirius snorted internally. In almost twelve years, never had someone come to visit him except for Hermione, and that was only once.

 _Almost._

"You do realise, sir," Sirius told him. "That as prisoners we are not allowed to vote, so it serves no purpose for you to try and win our hearts over."

Fudge tried to look appalled but Sirius knew he was faking. "I am in no way doing this as a political manoeuvre!" he exclaimed sharply.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Right." he pretended to agree. "What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding towards Rita and the photographer.

Rita took that as an opportunity to cut into this conversation. "I'm here to write an article about Minister Fudge's official visit of course." she told him. "And I think my readers would _love_ to read an interview of the _famous_ Sirius Black." Her eyes glinted with ambition and he could tell she was faking her excitement.

He raised an eyebrow, but he could see her eyes twinkling so he knew she wasn't lying. "Alright," he sighed. "Fire away."

She shot him a look of superiority and victory before opening her handbag, from which shot out a lime green quill and a piece of parchment. "So tell me," she said in a saccharine voice that would have made him throw up had he any food left in his stomach. "How does it feel to be _the_ Sirius Black, most famous mass murderer in our century? Does the weight of your guilt weigh down on you or do you still feel more inclined to believe the teachings of your master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Do you ever hear the screams of your victims and, if so, in pleasant dreams or in nightmares?"

Sirius sighed.

 _Almost._

"The only screams I hear," he answered, his voice evil. "Are the ones you made when I last _fucked_ you."

Her cheeks went slightly pink, both with anger and shame, and Fudge looked at her curiously, probably wondering if what he had said was true. "That's beside the point." she hissed at him, her eyes suddenly hard as she dropped her façade. "And you did not answer my question."

Sirius ignored her. "Talking about sex," he continued. "How many dicks did you have to suck on to become a reporter? Fifteen? Twenty?" He started at her for a bit, his eyes shifting from her mouth to her eyes and to the Minister's scandalised face a couple times. "Probably more," he concluded. "Because the way I remember it, you weren't very good at blowjobs."

The blush on her cheeks intensified, so she spun her heels around and walked back down the corridor, probably to interview some other person whilst she would change his words to make him seem all evil and everything, her photographer in tow.

Sirius turned back to Fudge, who was staring at him with disapproval and disdain in his eyes. "For which newspaper does she work for anyway?" he asked him.

Fudge huffed at him, pulled out a paper from his cloak pocket and threw it between the bars at the prisoner's feet. "Daily Prophet." he spat out. "Ever heard of it Black?"

Sirius picked up the paper and looked over the title. They had changed the logo since he had last seen it. "Say Minister," he started. "Would you mind if I kept it? I've got nothing to do all day, I could use the few crosswords that are in there."

"See if I care." Fudge told the other man indignantly. "I'm _certainly_ not going to touch it now that you've laid your _filthy_ hands on it."

 _Almost._

Sirius chuckled and Fudge left, probably bored to tears by his official visit by now. He shook his head and glanced back down at the paper. It said: "Crosswords: pages 18 and 19" so he flipped through, but accidentally landed on page twenty. He was about to turn to a different page but something there caught his eye.

His eyes skimmed over the black and white print: "… GRAND PRIZE … Weasley … Galleon Draw … Egypt … curse breaker … returning … Hogwarts …"

But it hadn't been the writing that had made him stop. It had been the black and white moving photograph of the nine people waving to the camera in front of a large pyramid. There, on one of the boys with his arm around his younger sister, sat a rat. A large plump rat with short grey hair and snout, as well as distinctively human eyes. If he wasn't sure he had killed said rat, he would have believed that this was the very same that used to press the knot of the Whooping Willow every full moon when he was a teenager.

But that wasn't what make Sirius' silver eyes stare at the picture and call back into question all he had believed in the past twelve years. It was the fact that, on his front paw, the rat lacked a toe. Through Sirius' mind flashed an image, one of a pile of ashes in the middle of Muggle London and sitting atop it, a single bloody finger. Words the traitorous rat had told him now flooded his mind.

 _Will he mind if I kill a Mudblood? … I hid my real identity from all of you. … I had her at my mercy. … I fired the Killing Curse. … I killed Mary. … I could feel the elation of murdering someone you truly hate. … Marlene … I had to kill her too. … You're so stupid Sirius!_

Stupid… Stupid indeed.

 _Almost._

He had almost killed Peter Pettigrew.

But he hadn't succeeded. Suddenly, a familiar feeling invaded his mind, mingling with the bastard's words. It was his wrath. Like boiling, molten lava, it started pulsing through his veins, driving him to murder the person he had once, twelve years ago, called a friend. He needed to get out. He needed to commit the murder he had suffered for. He would let himself die afterwards but he couldn't rest in peace if the rat was still alive.

 _No human being ever escapes Azkaban, Sirius._

… _human being…_

Then it clicked. The Animagus almost banged his head against a wall for not realising what her words meant sooner. She had known he would escape. She had also know when and _how_ he would escape. He just needed to turn in his dog form.

Sirius Black closed his eyes and felt himself change. His hands stopped clutching the newspaper and instead just lay on it as his fingers retracted. He felt his tail grow out and swipe across the cold stone floor as his ears moved up and his face elongated forwards. When he opened his silvery eyes, he was no longer Sirius Black. He was Padfoot. Padfoot was no human being. Padfoot would get him out.

 _Almost._

He stood up on his paws and bent down to grab the newspaper between his jaws, before his walked over to the gate. Hesitantly, he tried to pass his head between the bars, but it wouldn't fit with the Daily Prophet in his mouth. Sadly, the large black dog lay the stack of paper back on the floor before trying again. It took quite some pushing but, after a few tries, his head was between the bars. He then slipped both his front paws, separately, in between the bars, before expelling as much air as he could before tugging sharply at the rest of his body. He was so thin that it only took him one try and he was in the corridor.

He moved swiftly then. It wouldn't be long before the Minister and his escort sounded the alarm as they passed by and saw him, or rather the lack of him, in his cell. He started down the corridor leading to the stairs, hoping to get to the sewers. For he knew he couldn't very well just leave through the front door. He reached the stairs and trotted quickly, not bothering to count the steps like he usually did.

He got out on the first floor, because he knew that was where the Auror headquarters were. It was much more likely that they had a drain than the prisoners, so he started looking around. He was walking down a corridor when he heard two voices talk. He sprinted to an alcove in an adjoining corridor and lay down as low as he could, knowing that if they saw him, he would never have another chance to escape.

He heard the voices of an Auror talking to someone, who was probably Rita, because he seemed to be answering a question. "He's been the hardest prisoner we've ever had." the man was saying. "He never denied that he was guilty, he just denied betraying the Potters. When we would ask him if it was his fault, he'd say yes, but that he'd rather died than betray James and Lily Potter."

"And that never lead you to think he was Imperiused?" Rita asked.

"Well no," the Auror answered. "He was their Secret Keeper and the secret can only be broken willingly. The Imperius curse wouldn't have worked."

"Fascinating." he heard Rita say, even though she didn't sound fascinated at all. Their footsteps had gone past the alcove and were now getting further away. "What about torture? He couldn't have been tortured, could he?"

"No ma'am. He showed no sign of torture. No after effects of the Cruciatus curse, nor any scars or bruise or anything really."

By now they were far away, and Sirius knew he couldn't have heard them anymore without his dog hearing. He slowly got up from his hiding place and, after checking for any presence, started down the corridor again. He wandered for over ten minutes before he started panicking. They had surely noticed he was gone by now, or they almost had. Still, he hadn't found sewers yet.

 _Almost._

Suddenly, he smelled his salvation. It smelled like roast chicken. Roast chicken meant food, food meant kitchen, and kitchen definitely meant sewers. He trotted to the place from where the smell emanated and there it was: the Aurors' canteen. He checked for voices and, when he heard none, slipped inside. It was a rather large room, and everything was white and clean, from the painted concrete walls to the tiled floor, including the long tables and wooden chairs, and the whole lot was spotless.

He wasted no time in admiring the cleanliness of the place before going to look for the source of the delicious smell. He walked past a door that had been left open and found the kitchen, almost crying in happiness. It didn't take long to find a manhole that he could slip into, but it was covered and he knew he would have to shift back to lift said cover.

His heart racing, he shifted back to him human form and grabbed the heavy metal bars, before giving a sharp tug. He was so weak, he barely made it move. Then a voice sniggered in his head. It sounded an awful lot like Bellatrix.

 _So pathetically weak._

His wrath burning harder now, and when he pulled at the iron grill again, he managed to lift it just enough to be able to push it aside, although not completely. He let go of it and, still in his human form, he slipped inside the sewers, before grabbing the cover and pulling it towards his slowly. He was being careful so that it didn't scratch too much on the tiled floor, but when it fell in place, it let out a loud clanging noise.

Sirius' blood froze and he didn't stay to see if anyone had heard. He sprinted down the sewers, his legs aching and his lungs burning, but he didn't stop. Stopping would be suicide, or, at the very least, ruining his escape and condemning him to a lifetime in Azkaban… _Again._

He couldn't see anything and he was from the rotting water under his bare feet, but he didn't dare stop. Only one word was ringing in his head, over and over again.

 _Almost._

Suddenly, he heard people run behind him. They were far away, but seeing as they were fitter than him, they would surely catch up with him soon. His breath caught in his throat as he heard a yell: "He's over here!"

But, just as he heard that, he saw a light. A small dot of daylight at the end of the sewers, and he redoubled his efforts. He heard someone shout again and a red curse smashed on the stone wall on his left, spraying pebbles in his face.

Sirius tripped and coughed as he inhaled dust and it stung his eyes, but he didn't stop. He was panting, sweating, heaving, but the light was not too far away now.

 _Almost._

He could feel tears staring to form and he sobbed with happiness. It was just a couple of meters away now. "Stop!" an Auror shouted in desperation as Sirius reached the end of the tunnel. But he did stop.

To prevent himself from falling.

On the edge of the concrete tube, there was nothing but air, and a two-hundred foot drop to the North Sea. Sirius gulped. Jumping would surely kill him, right? He turned back and saw the cloaked men running towards him, Dementors at their heels. The choice was hard.

But he didn't get the chance to choose. An Auror waved his wand and a bright blue curse shot towards him. Sirius' eyes widened as he recognised the powerful Cutting Hex before it hit him in the chest. He gasped in pain as his chest was slashed open, his blood seeping from the wound and dripping down on the concrete.

But each drop that fell was closer to the edge than the previous as the power of the hex had Sirius stumbling backwards a few steps before, finally, there was just air beneath his feet and he tumbled down.

 _Almost._

He barely felt the cold wind cutting at him angrily, for in that instant of a fall, he felt something he hadn't felt in twelve years. The steady, pulsating flow of magic, which, if it was coloured, would be a bright Gryffindor red. His magic wrapped around him protectively and, even though it was as weak as he was, it still helped slow his fall so that, when he finally hit the water, it didn't hurt.

The water was cold, sure, but with his magic cocooning him, he barely felt it. His blood stopped seeping so rapidly from his body and he felt himself change into his Animagus form, probably so his magic could wrap around him tighter. He inhaled water and his lungs burnt, but he didn't care.

 _Almost._

 _No, not almost_ , he thought as his consciousness left him. _Free._ was the last word that rang in his head as sleep claimed him.

Sirius Black was free.

-o-O-o-

 **Little questions for my readers (because I love to know what you guys are up to):**

 **1\. What was your favourite line in this chapter?**  
 **2\. What do you think will happen to Sirius?**  
 **3\. What did you have for breakfast today?**


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